Ties of Blood and Honour
by Wheller
Summary: A paladin, member of the Knights of the Silver Hand had sworn to follow Prince Arthas Menethil. And follow they did, now one such paladin has to deal with her actions after the Culling of Stratholme.


There she was, sitting outside the smouldering ruins of the once great city of Strathholme; the wondrous city had been the second largest in the Kingdom of Lordæron. The founding place of the Knights of the Silver Hand, and they had burned it to the ground.

She was Sára, a Paladin belonging to the Knights of the Silver Hand. And she was covered in blood. The blood of those she'd slaughtered on orders of the Prince, Arthas Menethil. She'd stripped off her armour, tossing it aside, and dawning the ripped dress of a dead townswoman. And so she sat, sobbing violently and up to her arms in blood. She had knowingly committed an act of evil. She could no longer call herself a Paladin, and no amount of penance could redeem her.

"What ails you, child?" said a voice from behind.

"Can you not see? Can you not see what has happened?" Sára gasped between sobs.

"I cannot, it has been nearly two score since blindness took its hold. Come with me child. Come and tell me what ails you." The old man said, Sára looked at him, she could not see his face, as it was obscured by a hooded cloak. But she got up and went with him anyway. Anything was better than sitting here crying her eyes out at what she had done.

The old man led her to a small shack not so far into the nearby woods. He pushed open the door with his walking stick and entered, offering her a seat.

"Now child, tell me what ails you." He said.

Sára nodded, and began to speak.

**Ties of Blood and Honour**

Sára sat looking out into the distant sky of Lordæron. The troops were on their way to Strahnbrad, The Orcs of the Blackrock clan, worshipers of dæmons and their fel magic had been raiding the country side for days. Something had to be done; they would be the ones to handle it.

Sára felt honoured to be working alongside those of Crown Prince Arthas Menethil and the orders founder Uther the Lightbringer. She had rarely left her home in Lordæron; the order had always kept a large presence in the capital. Others still acted as emissaries to the other kingdoms of the Alliance of Lordæron. A united banner for the seven kingdoms of Humans, Lordæron, Stormwind, Stromgarde, Kul Trias, Dalaran, Gilneas, and Alterac. More recently, The Dwarves of Khaz Modan, the Gnomes of Gnomergan, and the High Elves of Quel'Thalas had joined to fight the rampaging Orcish Horde during the First War. So many years ago, The Horde had decimated Stormwind, and the Alliance of Lordæron would fight two wars to reclaim it.

It was all history now, Sára was never particularly interested in the past. The present was more of a concern to her. Rumours had been spreading that the Majority of the Orcs that had not been captured or killed following the Second War had sailed west to parts unknown. Only some, such as the Blackrock clan had remained.

The troops had arrived at Strahnbrad, only to find that the Orcs had already sacked the town, hauling off many survivors, likely to become slaves to the Orcs. Sára shuttered at the throught. Slavery was practiced by both sides. Although it was becoming increasingly rare in human kingdoms, as many people were beginning to think that having an Orcish slave would do more harm than good. Orcs were strong, at least somewhat intelligent by human standards, cunning and brutal. Orcs could easily overpower the average human. And the idea for using them as slaves had all but died out. Sára was glad at this. She was appalled by slavery, and while Orcs were brutish, she respected them as honourable adversaries, most of them anyway.

These were Blackrock Orcs. They didn't have an honourable bone in their bodies. Sára had arrived in time to see Arthas and Uther rush off to their next engagement with the Orcs. Her group would stay behind to protect the village from any more mauraders and looters of both Human and Orcish origin.

Protection of the village had been remarkably been uneventful. That was until a rider from Arthas' forces had returned to Strahnbrad with news, terrible news of plagued grain being spread by an army of cultists. News that Arthas had slew the necromancer Kel'Thuzad, leader of the cult and requested aid to stop grain shipments to Strathholme, Sára mobilised her troops and they quickly marched on. They had a day's worth of travel.

Day turned to night, and they kept marching on. Sára had elected to guard the rear, Orcs were known to prowl these lands and they had a nasty habit of attacking the back of a marching army, where they were most vulnerable. Sára's horse trotted nearly a furlong back from the army. She couldn't help but look up at the moons adorning the sky, the White Lady, the larger of the world's two moons shone brightly. The white lady and the blue child were a marvellous site to behold, particularly on a night such as this.

Sára noticed a raven fly into her view, as if it had appeared from nowhere, landing in front of her. To an even bigger surprise, it began to change, it formed into a man. While this startled Sára a little, she figured that this was a mage of the Kriin Tor. The rulers of Dalaran.

"Greetings, young Paladin." The man said.

"Hail to you Wizard of the Kirin Tor." She said. "You gave me quite a fright."

The man chuckled a little. "I am not of the Kirin Tor, but I certainly see why you would think so. But it is of no matter, for you must listen to my warning, this land is lost. The only salvation of this world lies west to the ancient land of Kalimdor, you must lead your troops there for it is their only hope!"

Sára looked at the man. "And you would have me abandon my duty to the Holy Light and to Lordæron, on the words of a mad prophet only? I will not, and cannot abandon my duty. Stand aside and allow me to continue."

The prophet nodded. "Very well. I see that I have wasted my time here."

The prophet turned to his raven form and flew off without another word. Sára paid no heed to his words.

After reaching the outskirts of Strathholme just behind Lord Uther's forces, Sára readied at the camp that had been prepared.

"Glad you could make it, _Uther._" Prince Arthas said in an obviously disrespectful way.

"Watch your tone with me, boy. You may be prince, but I'm still your superior as a Paladin."

Arthas scoffed and began walking towards the cliff side, "As if I could forget. Listen, Uther, there is something about the plague you should know…"

Arthas paused and a look of pure horror came across his face. "Oh no, we're too late. These people have all been infected! They may look fine now, but it's just a matter of time before they turn into the undead!"

The troops gasped, Sára was taken aback, she hadn't seen what this plague could do, but she had every right to believe the prince if Necromantic magic was involved.

"This entire city must be purged." Arthas said simply.

Uther was taken aback, shock formed on his face as he looked the prince directly in the eye. "How can you even consider that? There has got to be some other way."

"Damn it Uther, as your future king, I order you to purge this city!" Arthas said.

Uther looked the boy sternly in the eye, as if he was looking right through him. "You are not my king yet, boy!" he said, "Nor would I obey that command if you were!"

"Then I must consider this an act of treason." Arthas said solemly.

"Treason? Have you lost your mind, Arthas?" Uther asked dumbfoundedly.

Arthas gave him a deadpan look. "Have I? Lord Uther, by my right of succession, and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby relieve you of your command, and suspend your Paladins from service."

A look of shock came around everyone's faces, Jaina Proudmoore, a wizard of the Krin Tor, who had been travelling with Arthas for some time spoke up. "Arthas! You can't just-"

"It is done!" Arthas interrupted, "Those of you who have the will to save this land, follow me! The rest of you… Get out of my sight!"

And with that, the majority of combined forces rode off with Uther and Jaina Proudmoore in their wake. Without another word, the forces who stayed with Arthas rode into the city, tossing torches into the homes of any and every house they came across. People fled their homes in terror, only to turn into undead ghouls shortly afterwards, it came down to the quick cutting down of the civilians before they could turn. The helpless citizens could not even put up a fight.

As they entered the town square, a large dæmon clad in green stepped out of the shadow and spoke to the prince.

"I have been waiting for you, young prince, I am Mal'Ganis. As you can see, your people are now mine. I will turn this city, household by household, until the flame of life has been snuffed out, forever." The dæmon said.

"I won't allow it Mal'Ganis! Better these people die by my hand then serve as your slaves in death!" Arthas said.

The soldiers rushed the dæmon, pummeling him and stabbing him with their swords until he vanished into shadow, only to reappear several yards away. It was clear, the only salvation would be to slaughter the towns people before the dæmon could take his hold.

Death after death, after death, until the last plagued townsperson died at the end of Arthas' Hammer. The Dæmon fled, and Arthas went off to chase him down.

Sára however had seen what she had done… What they all had done. She broke down, wandering away with tear filled eyes, stripping off her armour as she went. She could not forgive herself for the evil she had caused. The others would rationalise it away as the right thing to do, the only thing to do, but not her.

**Epilogue**

After finishing her story to the old man, Sára stopped crying finally, she felt somewhat at peace, though she had known the Holy Light would no longer wield itself to her, she tried preforming a bit of holy magic, only to find it had left her. She was no longer a Paladin, no longer a Knight of the Silver Hand.

"Do not worry, my child." The old man said. "You still have yet a purpose."

The old man threw off his cloak, only to change shape into the tall lumbering dæmon. It was none other than Mal'Ganis himself. "The undead Lich King is proud of what you have done child. You shall serve us well."

Mal'Ganis stabbed Sára with his dæmon blade; she felt her life, her very soul being drained from her. Until there was nothing left but hate and malice for the living.

"Rise, Death Knight!" Mal'Ganis said. "The Lich King has much for you to do."


End file.
